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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23400385">Golden Sombrero</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/navree/pseuds/navree'>navree</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Riverdale (TV 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Baseball Idiots, M/M, and mike schmidt, if there's one thing i've learned from my friends, it's that this is a gay sport, so i'm rolling with it in between calls</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 05:55:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,943</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23400385</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/navree/pseuds/navree</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>One dumb little league game is apparently something he'll never live down, no matter how much he wants to, and now some sophomore year chick knows about it too.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>FP isn'g good at baseball, so he doesn't engage with it. But he will engage with Fred, even though he loves baseball. He will certainly engage with Fred in his baseball uniform.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fred Andrews/FP Jones II</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Golden Sombrero</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugheadjones/gifts">jugheadjones</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>for fredheads on tumblr from <a href="https://navree.tumblr.com/post/614039046869630976/im-so-so-bored-with-all-this-corona-quarantine-so">here</a>! plus, always down for an excuse to do parentdale nonsense<br/>as always, comments (either positive or constructive) are always welcome and much appreciated!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pickens Park is the first place he looks. FP knows that baseball season is coming up, knows that Fred likes to make sure he's at his top before tryouts every year, and Pickens Park is the only public place with a baseball diamond easily accessible for practice. The only other place would be at school, and Featherhead locks the batting cage by the football field during the off season, which might be FP's fault given the stern voice over the intercom reminding students that athletics equipment of any kind is not for use, not even to see what happens to different fruits put in the ball machine. </p><p>Still totally worth it. </p><p>FP's judgment proves correct, because Fred is at the Pickens baseball diamond, in full baseball attire, concentrating on Gladys Sawyer, of all people, on the mound. She is not dressed in baseball attire, because FP is mean and thinks the pants wouldn't do much for her ass. Besides, girls do softball, right? </p><p>"Babe Ruth, Cy Young, and yet no umpire." He's purposefully loud, and Gladys screws up her next pitch and almost beans Fred straight in the face. She doesn't, and he doesn't seem to be too upset. He's flashing FP his thousand watt smile. </p><p>"What's up dude?" he calls, waving a hand jovially. "You wanna stop worshipping at the altar of football and join in?" </p><p>"He's too busy mooning after The Juice," Gladys says, walking over to retrieve her baseball and give FP a tough girl nod. He's not entirely sure what to make of her yet. She's more classically Serpent than his family is, longform legacy, but other than that flimsy gang thread they don't run in the same social circles at all. Not to mention she's a full year younger than him, despite their shared AP World class. </p><p>"I think I can rush faster than him, actually." Fred laughs, and in spite of himself FP smiles. "Besides, you seem to have the big positions filled." </p><p>"I mean, we probably need someone in the field to catch my amazing hits," Fred says, and Gladys rolls her eyes. "And you're always welcome, you know that." It's typical teen banter, nothing FP hasn't shot back at members on the football team during their season, but hearing Fred say it stirs something warm and soft in his chest. </p><p>"Like I said, I can catch the throws Gladys messes up, if you're willing." He winks at her, and she looks like she wants to throw her mitt at him. </p><p>"Coming from the Golden Sombrero, that's rich." </p><p>"The what?" It's lost on him, but she's smirking and Fred's erupted into peals of laughter again. What he wouldn't give to be Fred Andrews, constantly finding something to smile at. </p><p>"It's a baseball term," he says in between chortles. "For someone who strikes out four or more times." FP feels his face heat up, and he wants to pummel Fred. One dumb little league game is apparently something he'll never live down, no matter how much he wants to, and now some sophomore year chick knows about it too. </p><p>"Just because I needed glasses," he mumbles, his go to excuse for why he'd failed that so miserably. Truth be told, he just sucks at the game. "So, you want me to umpire or not?" </p><p>"Don't be grouchy, Jones," Gladys says, tossing her ball up in the air and catching it expertly every time. Fred's staring at it like it's something mesmerizing. "Why not take this chance to learn some hand eye coordination." </p><p>"I helped us win homecoming, so-" Fred raises a hand before the <em>fuck you</em> can leave his mouth. It might be a good thing, he remembers hearing something about a catfight between her and Penelope Blossom where the latter had emerged almost needing stitches. FP doesn't have the health insurance for that. </p><p>"Seriously FP," Fred says, leaning towards him and putting his weight on his baseball bat. "Why don't I teach you how to bat? It'll be fun, and maybe you can help me practice my throws during the season instead of me having to yank Gladys out of the Whyte Wyrm all the time." He's waiting for an answer, which is mostly giving FP a chance to actually ogle him in his uniform. Fred's always so fast on the field, so often a blur of motion and dust when he's running from base to base during games, that he's never actually seen him looking like this and actually clean. The helmet is pulled low over his eyes, hiding his hair and obscuring most of his face, which is a goddamn crying shame, but this actually looks good on him. </p><p>The tight long sleeves over well defined arms, the rest hidden by an overshirt bearing Yankees insignia rather than the classic blue and gold of Riverdale High. The pants are tight fitting, and it likely does, in fact, do much for his ass, FP would bet his letterman on it. Combine this ensemble with the knee high socks and cleats and honestly, it would look dorky on everyone else. Instead it just looks. </p><p>Good. It looks really good. </p><p>"<em>Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine</em>." He drags it out, makes it long and melodramatic, but Fred's beaming again when he hands him the bat, which makes it alright. "Let me have a dry run," he calls out to Gladys, who raises an eyebrow. "Maybe I've improved." She shrugs, and the second he's actually got a grip on the bat, she hurtles the baseball at him. It whizzes past him and FP finds himself in some bizarre dance of simultaneously trying to swing at it and leap back so it doesn't knock him off his feet. Predictably, he misses. </p><p>"Well that was hilarious," Gladys says, and FP wants to flip her the bird. </p><p>"You purposefully threw it too close!"</p><p>"Did not!"</p><p>"Did too!"</p><p>"Did <em>not</em>!"</p><p>"Did <em>too</em>!" He grabs the ball and flings it back at her. Sadly, she catches it effortlessly. Fred shakes his head and moves behind FP, puts his hands on his hips. It feels like his brain crashes for a minute. "Dude?" </p><p>"Just square them this way," Fred says, manhandling him around until it's apparently satisfactory. "Plant your feet shoulder width apart, and bend your knees." FP does as he's told, and goddamn if the pleased hum Fred makes doesn't go straight to his dick. Which is inappropriate and if he gets a boner he's never going to hear the end of it. </p><p>"Like this?" FP asks. </p><p>"Great." Fred peels his fingers off the bat and moves his grip around until it's too his liking, and then he's behind FP again, his hands are on his hips again, he's moving them a little bit in some bizarre pantomime almost like swing dance. "Just move like this when you're going to hit, and you'll do better, got it?" FP nods and curses his dumb fucking throat for being dry. "Here." Fred puts his hands over his, and it's almost like he's spooning him. "Hey Gladys?" </p><p>"Yeah?" She doesn't seem all that phased, so FP's clearly just being dumb in his head. </p><p>"Pitch it to us!" She raises an eyebrow, but does so, another practically deadly throw. It's Fred who moves more than FP, like he's just taking him and his body along for a ride, and the bat actually connects with an ear drum shattering sound. The baseball sails over Glady's head, and bounces into the trees. FP feels like he's just been struck by lightning, or shot up with pure adrenaline. His knuckles are white and his palms hurt, in a strange way. Gladys glances at the trees, and then goes to pick up her bag. </p><p>"OK Fred, you helped hit that, you're the one who's going to go find it and bring it back to me," she says matter-of-factly. "Besides, I've gotta go meet Hiram at Pop's." Fred shrugs like it's no big deal. </p><p>"No problem." He disentangles himself from FP and somehow manages to pull her in for a quick one armed hug, because he's Fred and he's just like that. "Thanks for the help." </p><p>"No problem." She gives FP a two fingered salute and then she's off, strutting off into the sunset. For a moment, FP watches her go, feeling confounded. Fine, maybe she's hot, for a sophomore, but something about her just confuses the Hell out of it. Maybe it's how much she's not like a Serpent. Whatever, he doesn't give a shit. </p><p>"You're really gonna go and scrounge around for her stupid baseball?" he asks, turning back to Fred. Fred's taken his helmet off and tossed it next to his backpack in the dust, and there's a strange glint in his eyes. </p><p>"Hell yeah," he says, nodding towards the trees. "You wanna help?" </p><p>FP is compelled to say yes. </p><p>They find it, thankfully, next to one of the trees close to the edge, though still with a bit of foliage cover. Which is good, because FP is currently pinned up against that tree, the bark scratching roughly at his back, one of Fred's hands on his hip again but the other is cupping his cheek and he's such a good kisser. </p><p>He's <em>such</em> a good kisser. </p><p>Fred's got a bad case of helmet hair but FP's fixing that, running his fingers through it and then tightening his hold when Fred nips his bottom lip. He releases when Fred does, and they stop kissing so he can look at him balefully. </p><p>"Dude, don't rip it out at the roots." </p><p>"Shut up." FP leans in to kiss him again, and he can feel Fred's lashes brushing against his skin. He's never much paid attention to his eyelashes before. </p><p>"So, was the Cy Young thing just a way for you to get in a crack about Gladys Sawyer being younger than us?" Fred asks, mouthing at his jaw. FP clutches at his shoulders and nods. "And was the Babe Ruth thing just so you could call me <em>babe</em> in public?" He grins to himself. </p><p>"You got a problem with that, <em>babe</em>?" He can feel Fred smile on his skin, and he can feel Fred press the heel of his palm against his crotch. It feels like fire. They're in a public place, they're in a public place and probably breaking so many public indecency laws, so FP bites down on his moan. </p><p>"I don't know, babe." Fred breaks away again. He's smiling. He's got such a beautiful smile, it spreads all over his face. Not just the stretch of his mouth, but the shine of his eyes, the crinkle of his nose, the dimples in his cheeks. Pretty seems such an odd thing to think about another boy, but he is. He's pretty. Especially when he smiles. "I think I kinda like it." He's still got a hand on his dick when he kisses him again, slow and leisurely, though thank God almighty without too much tongue. FP knows from experience some girls are just way too into trying to suck face more than actually kissing, but that's not really his speed. </p><p>Fred is his speed. </p><p>"God, I cannot believe I'm about to get jerked off next to a baseball field in Pickens Park against a tree," he mutters against Fred's mouth. Fred tilts his head and grins at him. </p><p>"Are you getting jerked off next to a baseball field in Pickens Park against a tree?" he asks. FP sighs and undoes his fly. Mercifully, Fred shoves his hand right in. </p><p>"Would you just jerk me off? Pretty please with a cherry on top?" They're kissing again. And then some. </p><p>Baseball season cannot begin fast enough. </p>
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